


Six Thousand Miles From Freedom

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Series: Six for the Gold [3]
Category: Fast Five (2011), Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Driving, F/M, Jossed, Post-Movie(s), Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't the first time Letty had composed a postcard to Dom in her mind, and she was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Thousand Miles From Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> First try at Letty; another post-Fast Five character exploration ficlet. Spoilery for the scene after the credits; also includes a reference or two to Los Bandoleros.

Her walkie talkie clicked twice, the signal to move in, and Letty gunned the engine, eyes fixed on the approaching lights of the convoy. It almost felt like old home week; dark cars, dark clothes, the hum of a highway rolling by under her tires, a dark sky sprinkled with stars and smeared bright with city-glow along the horizon.

"Dear Dom," she muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes as the matching cars ahead of and behind her broke to the sides to begin their maneuvering. "Thought of you today, papa. Robbed a truck full of something a lot more valuable than DVD players. Hope you're not letting the skanks climb all over you, 'cause your ass _will_ be grass when I finally find you. Where the hell are you, anyway? I'm getting sick of these busters. Love, Letty."

It wasn't the first time she'd composed a postcard to him in her mind, and she was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last. Wherever her man had gone after Brian and Mia broke him off the bus to Lompoc, it hadn't been anywhere her contacts could find him-- and she wasn't exactly free to track him down herself. Dead women on the run from cops and goons alike really couldn't afford to travel alone.

She pulled up alongside the last military truck in the line in tandem with another driver, both of them slowing carefully as a third zoomed into the space between that truck and the next in line. They'd had an inside man tell them which truck to cut out and make sure the convoy was in the right order; a good thing, or they'd be facing a lot more than a handful of soldiers. She looked up, waiting for the glint of a gun in the window-- then swerved wide as the driver fired, flinching as a bullet shattered the rear signal light.

The blocking driver kept gradually standing on his brakes, regardless of the bullets hitting his rear panels, and Letty swerved again, pulling back just far enough to slide back into the truck's blind spot. The driver would have to lean out to fire at her again, and in the meantime, she could hear Devon's engine revving on the other side. She took a deep breath, listening avidly for the next shot-- then pulled back out on her side to provide the next distraction. She'd been livid when she'd found out they _expected_ to catch live rounds on this one, but at least the boss had thought far enough ahead for bulletproofing. Not like the time she'd faced a shotgun in a Honda; there'd be no Vinces here.

She reached up to ghost a hand over the scars on her cheek, thinking of Vince's arm and older seams in her own skin, and wondered idly if she and Dom would still be able to fall back together like they'd never been apart if she _did_ find him. It had been a long time, a lot of road for both of them. How long was too long, before ripping off old scabs did more damage than the initial injury?

She'd been in a fucking coma for _weeks_ after that car wreck, and while she'd been busy recovering from contusions, second degree burns and a gunshot wound, a charred body had turned up in the morgue with her name on the toe tag. Leticia Ortiz had been rendered anonymous before she ever woke, and Dom had been locked behind bars before she was conscious long enough to spill what she knew about Braga's organization. It had taken even longer for her to realize that the dudes holding her _weren't_ actually feds trying to keep her safe in witness protection; they were some other group with money and a slick-suited payroll looking for leverage on Dom-- or Brian-- or Braga.

She hadn't stuck around to find out which, cuffed to her sickbed or not. Maybe that had been a stupid decision, maybe not; but either way, it hadn't been the first choice she'd had to make without stopping to look back. She'd been badly wounded, with who knew what goons after her, and she hadn't wanted to risk what the feds might do if she turned up alive again out of nowhere. Instead, she'd nosed around just enough to hear what happened to Dom, Braga, and Brian, then called one of the new contacts she'd made since returning to LA to see if he could find her a secure way out of the States.

If she'd been smart, Letty would have gone to ground, contacted Leon, and waited for the dust to settle. But she hadn't been thinking straight, and the symmetry had felt somehow appropriate, since _she_ was suddenly the one wearing the target. It wasn't as though they needed her, not while everyone was in a holding pattern awaiting Dom's trial. And it was her turn to be the one doing the leaving, for a change.

Dom loved her-- she _knew_ he loved her-- but it had never been enough to keep him with her. Not after LA, not in Mexico, and not in the Dominican Republic. He wouldn't even have called her in on the fuel truck jobs if she hadn't found him first. Leaving the money for her had been bad enough, like it somehow made him less of an asshole to provide for her in absentia; but the necklace.... fuck.

She'd given him that silver cross when they'd been teenagers, and he'd worn it every day he hadn't been in prison since. Even when she found him with a racebunny on each arm, that necklace spilled down his chest like her own private brand-mark: an assurance that he still knew whose bed he belonged in. Letty's territory, no skanks welcome here. Leaving it behind had been one fuck-you of a goodbye, whatever noble shit he'd had in mind when he did it. Like he thought she'd have a better life without him. So. Why shouldn't she?

The military truck was fishtailing a little as its driver hit the brakes, trying to back out of their little pocket rather than letting himself be tamely herded to a halt. Then he wrenched on the wheel, aiming for Devon-- just enough to send the other driver veering into the verge, before he pulled a much sharper left over into Letty's lane.

Letty swore as the sidepanel of the much heavier vehicle clipped the forward right corner of her car. She'd stomped the brake pedal at the first sign of impending conflict, but not enough, and the world whirled around her as the contact sent her spinning. "Fuck!" She pounded the steering wheel as she screeched to a halt, then shifted gears and hit the gas again, trying to get back into position. The passenger in the leading car was supposed to have incapacitated the driver already-- but there was no accounting for amateurs. She should have insisted she do it. But the boss didn't trust her that far. She still owed him for her freedom, but that didn't mean as much to these people as it should.

The problem with dealing with other criminals, she'd discovered, was actually _dealing_ with other criminals. Before Letty had followed a rumor about Braga's mule system up from Mexico and gone to Brian to barter for Dom's freedom, she'd never realized just how much Robin Hood bullshit there was in Dom's finger to the cops lifestyle. The real crooks, like that _cabrón_ Fenix and his boss, spent lives like currency and never even trusted their own mothers; she was tough enough to handle it, but she missed the surety of knowing that someone had her back. Dom had always treated his team like family, and they'd _become_ family, even when they really shouldn't have, and she missed it.

Letty'd wanted to hate Brian so badly for that; because of him, the people she loved most had been scattered to the four winds. But it was also true that he'd saved Dom and Vince... and she'd seen the look in his eye when she turned up on his stoop. It had been the same look as the one Mia gave her when she came back from the DR: part shock, part welcome, part 'what the fuck has Dom done now'. It had pissed Letty off, but it had also told her that going to him had been the right thing to do.

He was a fucked up guy, Brian. But he'd lived up to his promise, even with the feds reneging. Dom was free again. Free enough to tear Rio to the ground, at least, because someone had fucked with Vince--that rumor had passed through the racer's network like a wildfire.

What would he do to Berlin if he found out she was here?

She pulled up even with the slowing truck again, and wondered if it would be worth reaping the whirlwind to leave a fingerprint behind this time.


End file.
